


Tales of the Underworld

by Kittyreaper



Category: Homestuck
Genre: ALSO FAYGO, AU, CAN'T FORGET THE FAYGO! X3, Dead!Cronus, Demonstuck?, Devil!GHB, Hell, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-19 23:42:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3628599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittyreaper/pseuds/Kittyreaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BEEP!<br/>You barely even have the time to register what was happening before you find some foreign force crashing into your body, sending you backwards. Screaming, you fly into the unknown. This continues until you ram into a blade that slices through your back like a butter knife, everything turning pitch.</p>
<p>These are the misadventures of Cronus Ampora's spirit as he makes his way in the supernatural world. THIS IS ALSO ME STILL WORKING ON GETTING BACK INTO THE HABIT OF WRITING AND SERIOUSLY WANTING TO JOT THESE IDEAS DOWN! XD</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> YES I AM WORKING ON THE NEXT CHAPTER OF TSOTSC (Two Sides of the Same Coin)! DX  
> It's just been a really long time since I've last written a fuckton & I need to get back into the habit. =P  
> As of current, this story is just a little bit of an experiment. Obviously, I'm planning on shoving my OTPs into the plot later on, including Cronkri, Johnkat, Pale Gamkar, Erisol, and seriously if you just don't like those ships, maybe you shouldn't read this story? XP  
> Anyways, let me know what you think in the comments section; I'm always happy to get advice on how to improve my writing! =3  
> ~Kitty

BEEP!

You barely even have the time to register what was happening before you find some foreign force crashing into your body, sending you backwards. Screaming, you fly into the unknown. This continues until you ram into a blade that slices through your back like a butter knife, everything turning pitch.

 

~oOo~

 

When you next become conscious, it’s to the unfamiliarity of deep, rancorous laughter.

You open indigo eyes to see the setting of some elaborate throne room. Before you is a large, dark purple throne made of crystal and fire that looks cold enough to freeze something until it snaps clean in two. Sitting on the throne is an enormous man with a literal mane of dark purple, almost black, hair, a pair of tall, wavy, onyx horns protruding from his skull. His eyes are a pitch black abyss of despair, and you can just feel the pure evil radiating off of him. His legs are a goat’s with fur matching his hair, his shirt seems to be made of bones, and his skin is a light gray, his face not accurately showing this under multiple layers of intimidating, smudged, pure white face paint.

A little ways to his left are two others, both absurdly tall. The first, standing closer to the throne, has more height, what seems to be at least seven feet. His hair is a curly mess of dark purple that seems as if it would noticeably bounce if he were to move his head an inch, horns like smaller versions of the largests’ resting casually on top, and his eyes are, disturbing enough, glowing, dark purple, pupilless orbs. His legs are similar to the biggest of the threes’ in that they are clearly goat-like with dark purple fur, yet instead of a shirt he opts for blank body paint that makes out his rib-cage, arm and individual hand bones, spinal cord, and his back is probably decorated in the same fashion. However, the most eerie feature of his appearance is by far his face. On top of light gray skin is the white design of a skeletal face, six, vertical stitches fitting perfectly within the vertical rectangles left clean, placed strategically over top of his mouth, pitch black twine of some sort sewing his mouth shut. A small, strange little smile is fixated upon his expression, unreadable.

The last is the shortest at half a head below his direct previous. He almost seems to be on drugs, bouncing on his tippy-toes, a lazy grin of razor-sharp teeth stretched across his face. His eyes are entirely a medium-purple, his goat legs matching if you ignore the lavender polka dots somehow naturally grown as a color of fur. His horns are for obvious reasons shorter than the others’, yet they have a glossy, light purple shine to them while the elders’ are just cold, dark onyx. His hair lies somewhere in-between the organization of the second’s and the unkemptness of the first’s, a tangled, curly mess of black just barely touching his shoulders. His face paint seems to be mainly based off of clowns, shapes resembling circles around his eyes and mouth left natural, along with two dots going slant-ways towards the center of his head on either cheek, the design as symmetrical as possible. He wears a black t-shirt with multi-colored stains strangely similar to that one time Eridan tried that weird-ass clown soda and spilled violet Faygo on his pants.

The largest stands, causing the earth below you to shake, flashing and evil grin of teeth like knives- no, large enough to be swords. “WELCOME MOTHER FUCKER!”

You warily take a step back, having been in enough horrible situations to know not to fuck with a terrifying person that can easily kill you.

He then leans in closely, looking you straight in the eye to the best of his ability. “Say, do you know where the motherfuck you are?”

You shake your head in a ‘no,’ prompting him to laugh right in your face, nearly sending you flying backwards.

“WELL THEN WELCOME, mother fucking welcome, TO HELL!” Your eyes widen significantly, and with absolute horror you realize what happened. Your name is Cronus Ampora, and you were hit by a speeding truck and died at age seventeen.

“Whoa, whoa, wait a second! Why the fuck did I end up here?! I’m a nice guy!” You lift your hands up in a sign of surrender, defending yourself. There was absolutely no reason for you to end up in hell!

“Oh yeah? OH MOTHER FUCKING YEAH? Then tell me mother fucker, TELL ME THE SWEET, MIRACULOUS TRUTH: what happened to those poor, unfortunate souls killed and robbed? WHO WAS THE BLASPHEMER THAT ALL UP AND ROBBED THEM OF THE LIFEBLOOD RUNNING SMOOTH THROUGH THEIR MOTHER FUCKING VEINS?”

“I just did what I had to, to survive!” You yell in outrage, “If I didn't, if I hadn't stolen that money for food, Eridan and I would've died!”

He then releases a loud, bellowing laugh that shakes the foundation of the building. “IT ALL DOESN'T MOTHER FUCKING MATTER! ALL THAT COUNTS ON JUDGEMENT DAY IS THAT YOU COMMITTED THE CRIME, AND IF YOU ALL UP AND COMMITTED THE CRIME, THE PYROPES WON’T TAKE ALL THAT KINDLY TO YA’!”

Your hands ball into fists at your sides, teeth clenching, face set in a juvenile glare at the Devil. “Oh come on, I don’t even get why the fuck you’re doin’ this in the first place!”

The monster’s laughter cuts off short, that fiend getting all up in your face again. “Oh really? AND WHAT THE MOTHER FUCK DO YOU THINK I SHOULD BE DOING?”

“Well, definitely not this!” You pause for a moment, giving a FACE PALM, still angrily glaring at the demon. “Okay, so, you’re the king of all evil, right?”

“Yeah, that’s mother fucking correct.”

“And… you punish sinners?”

“I DON’T ALL UP AND SEE YOUR MOTHER FUCKING POINT ALL CRYSTAL-LIKE!”

“Isn't it a good thing for you when people sin? And you’re the bad guy? So, if you’re punishing people for helping the bad guy, you, then doesn't that make you-”

“SILENCE!” He bellows right in your face, picking you up in his hand that’s truthfully almost as large as you are, crushing you in his fist. “NO MORE BLASPHEMY OUTTA YOUR MOUTH, YA’ HEAR?!”

The shortest of the three then puts one hand on his chin and the other on his hip, thinking. “Huh. You know what, pops? I neva really thought about it that way! Right, my wicked skeleton-bro?” His voice is deep and rough, kind of similar to that one radio station DJ that you can’t seem to remember the name of at the moment. He turns to the middle one, of whom is looking at the scene and nodding his head in agreement, still with that creepy, little smile plastered upon his face.

The Devil’s eye visibly twitches and he face palms, groaning softly in an obvious growl. “Alright, fine. WHAT THE MOTHER FUCK DO YOU WANT, PATHETIC MORTAL?!”

You look at the ceiling before an evil grin takes control of your face. You lift an arm free from his grasp before lifting that same arm to point at the sky, an impish look in your eyes. “I want to go to heaven!”

The ruler of hell glares at you like you slapped his mother upside the head and yells right in your face once more, probably ruining your perfect hair if it wasn't already a train wreck by then. “NO!”

“Damn! Alright, fine, can I at least have my wallet back?” You ask with a bored expression.

Of course, your bright violet wallet appears out of nowhere in particular and lands in your free hand. You grin happily before shoving your wallet in his face, knowing there’s like one hundred seventy bucks in there. “I want to buy my soul!”

And thus begins the tales of the underworld…

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wordlessly, you stand to make your way to the entrance of the hallway, and begin your quest to fix your fucking hair.  
> But, you know, not as melodramatically as that.  
> I mean, that’s just fucking stupid.
> 
> In Which Cronus Flips his Everything About the Unfortunate State of his Hair, the Devil Laughs Manically at the Crazy-Ass Prank He Totally Just Pulled On the Protagonist, and Gamzee Slams a Faygo, All While the Author Grins Evilly at the Crazy Shit She Just Wrote.  
> Meow & I thought I wasn't going to finish this today. =3

~Day 1 in Hell: 3 pm/15:00h~

After the Devil begrudgingly sold your soul for all of the money in your wallet, you find yourself lying upside-down on the dark purple couch in his living room, groaning loudly, hands brushing the floor.

“WHO KNEW THE AFTERLIFE WOULD BE SO FUCKING BOOOORING?!”

“You don’t have to up an’ stay here in the palace, you know.” At that moment, the youngest of the three demons from when you bought your soul back enters and plops himself next to you on the couch with a shrug. He opens a bottle of purple liquid and takes a swig from it, the label ‘Faygo’ on its side. “The name’s Gamzee, by the way.” After swallowing, a friendly grin makes its way onto his face, one light gray hand outstretched.

You look at his hand for a moment before shaking it to the best of your ability while upside-down. “Cronus.”

“Well, it’s nice to get mother fucking aquainted an’ shit, Bronus!” Gamzee shakes your hand in a ridiculously exaggerated motion.

“Wait, _‘Bronus’_?!” You glare at the nick-name.

“Yup, ‘cause you’re a bro, and your name’s ‘Cronus’!”

You pull your hand away from the teen’s iron grip, practically seething. “Geez, rip my arm right off, will ya?” None the less, you adjust yourself to be sitting upright on the plush cushions and run a hand through your hair, cringing at what you can feel of its fucked-over state. “Fuck, my hair’s a total train wreck, isn’t it?”

“It’s not like I up an’ know what it’s normally like, but it doesn’t look all that bad to me.” He smiles at you, taking another gulp from his carbonated beverage.

“Hey, you know where there’s a bathroom here?” You glance in his general direction.

“Yeah: down the hall, first door to the left.” Gamzee gestures towards a hallway painted the same icy shade of purple as the rest of the palace.

Wordlessly, you stand to make your way to the entrance of the hallway, and begin your quest to fix your fucking hair.

But, you know, not as melodramatically as that.

I mean, that’s just fucking _stupid._

Anyways, you start down the hallway, grumbling incoherent bullshit about people fucking up your hair.

 

After a few minutes, you recall Gamzee saying the bathroom was the _first_ door to the left.

 

After about _ten_ minutes, you begin to wonder how long this hallway even _is_.

 

A while after that, you stop in your tracks. Just a little bit ahead, splattered on the wall, is what seems to be blood.

_Wow, yeah, demons are fucking crazy_ , you think to yourself and continue on, narrowing eyes at the blood stain as you pass by.

From there, you notice the lights growing increasingly dimmer further down the hallway. It was so subtle that you don’t even realize it until you can hardly see a thing. Then, you see brighter lights ahead, and rush towards them, not particularly fond of sticking around in the darkness much longer. When you catch up to the lights, you find something that you honest-to-god weren’t expecting.

Apparently, said lights were old-fashioned torches attached to the walls. And speaking of the walls, apparently they were completely splattered with blood at this point in the hallway.

“What the actual fuck… ?” You think aloud. “Okay, no, I don’t even fucking _care_ at this point. If they want to interior decorate with torture devices, that’s _their_ problem.”

You then continue through the hallway.

 

You’re pretty sure it’s been like an _hour_ by now.

You have absolutely no idea what the fuck is up with this hallway. At this point, you've noticed the floor twisting with the ceiling and walls, causing a weird-ass, rotating hallway. On top of that, you _swear_ you’re being followed. You keep on hearing this growly, creepy-ass laughter coming from behind you, but whenever you actually look, there’s no one in sight.

Holy shit, what if you’re going _insane?_

What if Hell is too much for you and now you’re _losing your mind?!_

You stop for a second at that. Are you losing your mind? Wouldn't be the first time you lost it. Wait, that _is_ what you would call your regretful childhood, isn't it?

_No, that’s fucking stupid_ , you tell yourself and begin walking again.

 

At this point, you _know_ you’re being followed. Whoever’s doing this sure was getting sloppy, ‘cause you managed to catch them red-handed. You, as per usual in this literal hell-hole, heard that freaky laughter as you continued down the hallway, but this time you caught them. You turned around as quickly as you possibly could and caught them in the act. A little ways behind you, standing in the shadows, eyes glowing entirely dark purple, was a tall, lanky figure. However, as soon as you spotted them, they disappeared into the shadows once more, laughter silent. You hope they don’t want to cause you a _second death_ or some shit.

 

Ever since you caught your stalker, the laughter hasn't come bubbling back up behind you. It’s actually pretty fucking _eerie_ if you focus too closely on it.

 

Oh my god, you really fucking hope you don’t die in this _goddamn hallway._ After a while, the laughter’s place was taken up. Taken up by the single most creepy-as-fuck thing ever. Now, the entire hallway reverberates with a quiet, beating pulse all too similar to a-a fucking heart! What you’re most terrified of at the moment would be a tie between two fears:

A.) That you’ll fucking _die_ in here

and B.) That that pulse is coming from a _real heart!_

 

If you die in this _stupid-ass hallway_ , you've decided to blame Gamzee for saying the bathroom was down here somewhere. Stupid, clown-ass stoner…

 

You know, now that you've wasted this much time in this fucking hallway, you've really started thinking about how this could be some sort of subconscious-induced punishment for everything you did in life.

However, you quickly smash that thought; that’s just fucking _stupid._

 

Yeah, you’re taking that last line back pretty quickly. After all, who the fuck knows you’re terrified of clowns other than yourself and _Eridan?!_ You severely doubt that your _stuck-up little brother_ could be in cahoots with _the fucking Devil._

In the background, loud but not even close to the near-pounding beat of that _terrifying heartbeat_ , plays what sounds like some god-awful shit a DJ would play at the circus or something. It’s all honks and psycho-babble now.

Ugh, plus the walls are lined with paintings of mentally-scarring clowns hugging crying and screaming children. _Bluh._

 

_You really fucking hate this._ Not only has the clown shit in the background gotten louder, but the walls are literally dripping bright, crimson red _blood_ and you swear to god the clowns in the paintings are _watching you._

Why?

Just… _WHY?!_

 

OH MY GOD VWHY WVON’T THIS CRAZY-ASS CLOWVN SHIT JUST _STOP_ ALREADY SO YOU CAN FIX YOUR HAIR IN THE BATHROOM IN _PEACE OR VWHATEVWER?!_

 

FUCKING HELL. THIS IS SO _TERRIBLE_ THAT YOUR _STUPID-ASS SPEECH IMPAIRMENT THAT YOU HATE TO HELL AND BACK IS SHOWVING UP EWVEN IN YOUR THOUGHTS._

 

You've come to accept the terrible fate that you’re doomed to never leave this hallway again. The is the _true end_ to the badass that was Cronus Ampora.

 

_You fucking hate existence._

 

Yeah, this is _definitely_ your subconscious torturing you for your previous sins. _Who the fuck else_ would know how to scare the living shit out of you _to this extent?_

 

Oh my god it’s started to _rain blood inside._

 

After doing a fuckton of thinking, you've come to the conclusion that the afterlife fucking _sucks._ End of discussion.

 

At this point, you just lazily glide right through the hallway, not even noticing when the structure stops spinning, the blood somehow disappears from sight, lighting returns to normal, and the background music and pounding pulse fade away. However, you do notice when you begin to pass a pitch black door to your left.

You look at it, eyes wide, mouth hanging agape in disbelief. You stop to stand in front of it, rubbing your eyes to ensure they’re not deceiving you. Then, you see the note. Attached to the door, written on a bright yellow sticky note with dark purple ink is the following:

 

Blasphemous motherfucker,

This trek through the HALLWAY OF DOOM AND DESPAIR has been your RIGHTEOUS PUNISHMENT for the BLASPHEMOUS ACT of weaseling your way out of JUST, ETERNAL SUFFERING. You’re welcome, you ungrateful motherfucker.

-Lucifer Makara

The Goddamn Devil

 

Grumbling incoherent threats, you take the sticky note, _rip it to shreds_ , then unceremoniously drop the pieces onto the floor, stepping over them to enter the bathroom you’d traveled so long for. Looking at the mirror hanging on the wall over the sink, you inspect your appearance. Your skin is still the mediterranean tan it’d been in life, but it just seems more a shade of gray than it used to be, probably a side-affect of, you know, dying and all. The zig-zagged scar on your forehead, a souvenir of an argument with your dad once, seems to be fresh once more, the once healed lines now a bright, ugly red. Your eyes are a dead, blank white in the entirety which _kind creeps you out a bit._ Your shirt and pants have a few holes in them from your death, but it’s not like you couldn’t fix them at some point. None the less, smirking seductively at your reflection, you mentally thank god that you still retained your killer looks, even if you’re a ghost now, despite the fact that he probably doesn't care about a sinner such as yourself. Then, your eyes flickered to your hair.

“OH _COME ON;_ HOWV THE _ACTUAL FUCK_ CAN HAIR _EVWEN POSSIBLY GET THAT FUCKED UP?!_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHAHAHAHA HOLY SHIT THE DEVIL SOOOOOOOO JUST PWNED CRONUS! XD


End file.
